Page 30 of Trick

What the fuck? Does he think I’m going to keep my silence like a good little girl? If he expects me to play the role of an old lady, he’s mistaken. I don’t have to tiptoe around these men, not anymore.

“Hawk,” I snap his name, “what the fuck happened?”

He glances over the top of Trick’s head at Brewer, who shifts one shoulder at him. When he turns to face me again, that coldness continues to spread up my spine.

“He took a beatdown,” Brewer says.

Now, I know they’re fucking crazy. I’ve heard about club beatdowns before. I remember one of the brothers talking about a club beatdown that happened in the London chapter and how every patched brother got to take one swing.

From the look of Trick’s face, they all took good swings. The pain he must be in makes me nauseous. I duck down, trying to see if he’s conscious, but all I can see is a slither of his irises through his puffy lids.

“You guys did this to him?” The horror bleeds into my words, and I don’t mask how disgusted I am.

They’re supposed to be his brothers, the men who have his back.

“The crazy fucker volunteered for this,” Brewer says defensively.

The thudding of my heart grows stronger, and there’s a ringing in my ears. “He what?”

“Beatdowns wipe the slate clean.”

I stare at Brewer, my lips parted as the volcano inside me readies to erupt. “Are you all fucking crazy?”

I move toward Trick, intending to shove both brothers away. I don’t want them touching him, but before I can, Trick speaks.

“Heidi… don’t.” It’s barely more than a whisper and his voice sounds ragged, but it’s enough to halt my steps. He’s so weak, he can’t even lift his head, but at least he’s breathing, which is a feat, considering the state of him.

“Have you seen what they’ve done to you? Is this what brotherhood is?” I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to stop from puking.

I don’t know why this affects me so badly. I’ve seen more blood and gore in my life than I want to remember, but this makes me sick to my stomach.

“I’m fine,” he rasps.

He’s clearly deluded.

“Is ‘fine’ in the room with us?” I narrow my eyes on him.

“Where do you want him?” Hawk repeats his earlier question, sounding impatient. Fuck him and fuck all the Sons. He did this, so he can just wait.

I glare at him, my expression dripping the venom I want to inflict on him.

“Couch,” I grind out.

“No, the bed,” Trick overrides me. His voice is thick, as if he’s struggling to even form the words. “Don’t… want Sophia… to see me… like this.”

Neither do I, but how the hell is he going to hide this from her? His injuries are going to take weeks to heal.

As they pass me, Brewer gives me a lopsided smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He and Trick are friends—or were before he left the way he did—but friends don’t do this. There is regret in Brewer’s eyes as he heaves Trick up the stairs, but it does nothing to ease the ball of anger building inside me.

Good. I hope you feel like fucking shit.

I follow behind the two men as they manoeuvre Trick toward his room. Sweat beads on my nape as I watch him sag between the two bikers like dead weight. A thousand fears prickle my skin as I try to make sense of any of this.

“Why did you bring him here?” I demand from behind them. “He clearly needs to be in the hospital.”

“Sure, we’ll just explain that he was assaulted by the entire club and see what the pigs make of that, yeah?” Hawk’s sarcasm scratches at my already fragile hold on my nerves.

“I don’t care what the ‘pigs’ think. He could have internal damage.”

---